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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449900">Midnight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezjena2023/pseuds/Hezjena2023'>Hezjena2023</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rituals!Verse - Blood Magic [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluffcember Prompt, Kiss at Midnight, New Year's Kiss, Prompt - New Year's Eve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:21:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezjena2023/pseuds/Hezjena2023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hanged Man was heaving, packed full to the rafters. More candles had been lit inside and outside than was probably safe, hung high in every rather and like the patrons, spilling out into the street flicking with the collective breath of hundreds of Lowtown residents. If anyone didn’t end up with a dribble of wax in their ale, how could they know that come midnight it would be First Day, and the start of the new year? </p><p>***</p><p>Merrill and Marina Hawke trade New Year’s Eve traditions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Hawke/Merrill (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rituals!Verse - Blood Magic [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fen'Harem's Fluffcember 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Midnight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Hanged Man was heaving, packed full to the rafters. More candles had been lit inside and outside than was probably safe, hung high in every rather and like the patrons, spilling out into the street flicking with the collective breath of hundreds of Lowtown residents. If anyone didn’t end up with a dribble of wax in their ale, how could they know that come midnight it would be First Day, and the start of the new year? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Marina Hawke would know what it was like inside the Hanged Man, so far she was still shivering outside the Tavern with Merrill and Isabela. They’d arrived late and hadn’t yet managed to get a seat inside, or even a standing place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like it had been an hour ago when they had sent Anders and Varric to bravely venture inside to get more drinks and the pair had yet to return. Now their cups had been long since drained, and the warm glow from their first ale was starting to fade. They huddled together like seagulls, their collective warmth stolen by the bitter sea winds that whistled down the candlelit streets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to check on them,” Isabela decided, “Varric better not be buying chicken legs,” she sighed dreamily, in a way that left Marina with the distinct impression that Isabela would very much not complain if Varric decided to throw some of his funds into buying the group a traditional meal. With a pointed look at Marina, Isabela pushed through the throng with elbows sharp as daggers, and disappeared inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Marina Hawke was left standing next to Merrill, in the flickering candlelight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill was clutching her empty red pottery mug tightly to her chest, her shoulders were drawn tightly together to keep off the chill and her head was bent so that the hastily chopped ends of her black hair was getting caught on her lashes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a shiver ran all the way through Merrill’s body, Marina thought it was cold enough to snow. Not that it would snow, with Kirkwall being so close to the sea. The salt in the air would keep the snow from forming. But she unwrapped the scarf around her neck, hooked it over Merrill’s head and tied it around her neck. She was cute, “there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Merrill breathed, her words creating a dragon’s breath of white steam in the air.  “I haven’t seen Aveline lately, is she alright?” Her question was small, as though it was to fill the silence rather than a particularly genuine attempt to ask after their friend’s wellbeing. “Or it is such a long way down here, is it just too many steps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marina smiled over the idea of Aveline eschewing their company for the sake of the thousands of steps down into Lowtown, “she’s gone back to Ferelden, just for the Winter season. Checking her husband’s Great Aunt’s still alive or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Merrill nodded, her emerald gaze catching Marina by surprise as she met her eyes. Her fingers tightened against her mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s traditional in Ferelden, you go back and check your old folks are still alive and they feed you for the trouble. Think Aveline’s just after some proper cooking.” Marina shrugged, thinking back to the various years that Leandra had dragged her and her siblings across the country to visit various aging relatives and the variously over-boiled cabbages and tough meats she’d suffered through as a child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill’s eyebrows were deep over her expression, concerned or maybe just cold. “Didn’t you want to go back?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one to go back to,” Marina replied softly and she felt her smile fade, so she replasted a new one over her expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes, the same, not that we go back, of course.” Merrill murmured to herself. After a moment, Merrill asked instead, raising the red pottery mug, “can I have this?” Then she weighed it as she passed it from one hand to the other, her painted red nails tapping lightly on the mug as she wrapped her fingers through the handle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marina glanced behind her, to check no one was watching them. None of the slightly-worse for wear crowd was playing them a lick of attention, “if you’re quick, want mine as well for a matching set?” She thought she could slip her own into her jacket and she was wondering if Gamlen’s house or Merrill’s was closest to deposit the treasures of their thievery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill blinked at her, her grin breaking through like sunshine on a cloudy day, then she laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Marina laughed with her, not because she knew what they were laughing about, but because the sound was infectious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to keep the mugs,” Merrill said as though it was obvious, then she frowned just a little, the flesh of her lower lip teasing down, “though I guess these aren’t yours to give away, should I ask if Corff will let me have them?” Merrill said, taking Marina’s mug and holding it up to the spilling light from the Tavern, appraising it like the trinketmonger deciding on the value of a flawed sapphire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want the mug for?” Marina’s curiosity bubbled up, and she pressed a little closer to keep out the chill, the top of her arm brushing against Merrill’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I was going to smash them, the Arrows can’t follow over broken pottery.” Merrill flinched up to look at Marina, she smiled weakly, her fingers so tight around the mug that it might just smash in her hand, permission given or not. “That doesn’t make sense to you, I’m sorry, it’s just, well, I’ve never had to explain it before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Marina offered, tilting her head towards the side of the Tavern, to the little alley behind that was used for bringing barrels of ale and beer in the back. She was already stepping towards the dark space, her hand trailing behind her to bid Merrill follow. Spreading her arms rather grandly, she presented the dirty alley to Merrill, “we can smash them here, no one need know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, you don’t know what it means?” Merrill said, nervously, her tongue poking out over her lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s important to you, isn’t it?” Marina asked, looking back the way that they’d come to make sure that they weren’t followed. That was enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill smiled, hopefully at Marina, “Andruil has Arrows, they’re bad luck if they catch you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Andruil is one of your gods?” Marina picked apart, Merrill nodded, “so the Arrows are like demons?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill was looking at her like she’d grown another head, blinking a little, surprised but in a good way. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked like she’d warmed up somewhat. Her face screwed up like she had taken a bit out of a lemon, and Merrill allowed the answer, “almost, but not really.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the pottery shards stop them following you?” Marina nudged Merrill with her elbow, teasing, “that wasn’t so hard to understand. Do we just smash them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, well, think of all the unlucky things from this last year,” she clutched her own mug tightly to her chest, her eyes squeezed shut, “put them in the pot and then-” Merrill threw the red pottery pot so hard it sailed four paces through the air, smashed into the limestone wall with a gaatlok-like explosion. Her fingers flew over her mouth, covering the excited giggle that burst from her lips. She turned to Marina, “your turn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marina tried to do the same, held the mug to her chest, with a questioning glance at Merrill. “Like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill placed her hands over Marina’s around the mug, “everything that’s annoyed you, this year, hold it in between your hands, put it in the mug...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marina looked at Merrill, her hands were cold, icy fingertips over her knuckles. Merrill was still explaining all of the things that could go into the mug in that rambling, impassioned way she had and Marina knew she was staring like a lovesick fool, not hearing a single word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill pulled her hands back, blinking up at Marina. “... and just throw it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marina thought of every one of Merrill’s frowns, of the sadness that Marina had seen that Merrill held clutched under her ribs, if these Arrows had any power she’d cast that unhappiness from Merrill with all her might. So with that thought, Marina threw the mug against the wall, smashing it into shards.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside her Merrill clapped her hands together politely, like a lady at the Opera, but the smile across her face was a sight Marina was sure she’d keep with her for the rest of her life. “Do you have any? Traditions, that is, for First Day?” Merrill gushed rounding on Marina, stepping close and she could feel the heat of Merrill’s breath on her bare neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Marina blushed, she felt her cheeks tingle as her mind turned traitior, “there is one, but it doesn’t matter.” She felt shy and so utterly unprepared for the question, as though Merrill had seen under her skin and into the hidden desires of her soul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, I showed you mine.” Merrill prompted, stepping a little closer over the ruins of broken pottery on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marina’s mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure if it was Merrill’s giddiness making her bold, but she stumblingly found some words, “a kiss is traditional at midnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to get Varric?” Merrill asked, stepping away. Looking so suddenly unsure that it struck Marina right in the gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marina caught her by the wrist, “no, Maker, no.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stopping, Merrill turned back, her brow creased into a furrow, “but then-?” Her eyes dropped to Marina’s lips in sudden realisation, “what is the purpose of the kissing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” Marina answered, subdued and a little caught by the way Merrill was looking at her. She glanced towards the ruined pottery, “the opposite, I guess. Not to chase away last year’s demons, but to start the New year with something sweet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I’m sweet?” Merrill questioned boldly, her tongue poked out over her lip, her nose was red from the chill. She readjusted Marina’s scarf on her neck and poked her chin out proudly, as though to disguise the very distinctive blush hidden underneath the black lines of her </span>
  <em>
    <span>vallaslin. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere far off in Hightown the bells of the Chantry had started ringing. With the bells followed a cheering that seemed to sweep up the whole city, gaatlok fireworks exploded over the Qunari quarter. The kaleidoscopic colours illuminating their little alleyway, tucked out of the way of the whole City, as though they were the only two people in Thedas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, yes.” Marina told her, stutteringly and heartbreakingly honest. She felt so suddenly nervous, and swiped her palms against her leggings. Behind the Hanged Man, the belltower by the Harbour began chiming out the countdown to midnight. ‘One, two,’ Marina mouthed, as though counting along might help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three. Four,” Merrill whispered, counting out the beats of the bells. “Five.” Her fingers tight and slightly trembling against Marina’s chest. She tucked her fingertips tucked into Marina’s collar, “at midnight you said?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At midnight.” Marina confirmed. Merrill was looking at her so intently, Marina thought she might not even care if the midnight traditions were kept nor if her friends ever came back with more ale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to do this, it’s just a silly thing, it isn’t important,” Marina offered, giving her a way out. A back out scheme, if she had any second thought. She was nervous, she was so ridiculously nervous. Her palms were hot and she’d lost count of the chiming bell and - the anticipation is enough to make her feel like a truly lovesick fool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill snorted softly as though she didn’t believe a word of it, tilted her head to the side in that evaluating way of her, then stepped forward, “I think you’re very cute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one has ever called Marina Hawke cute before, she was too tall, too gangly. Bethany was the cute one, not the eldest Hawke daughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten.” Merrill said by way of answer, in the exploded firework sky, Marina was quite sure that she had rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. “Eleven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Marina had been going to say was cut off as Merrill leant onto her toes and kissed her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merrill’s lips were warm and soft, pressed forcefully against Marina’s. Merrill’s nose was cold against Marina’s cheek, but her arm wrapped instinctively around Merrill’s waist to pull her close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy New Year,” Marina breathed, heady and just a little dizzy, white smoke frosting her breath, as they pulled apart. Merrill was sweeter than Marina could ever have imagined, and the perfect start to a New Year and hopefully something more between them. </span>
</p><p>
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